


Chicken Soup and the In-Between

by IseultOfIreland



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Platonic? Romantic? Who knows? Not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:19:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IseultOfIreland/pseuds/IseultOfIreland
Summary: "He doesn’t stop to question the fact that this is not how normal friends behave, because this is Tessa and things between them have never been “normal”."In which Tessa is sick and Scott makes chicken soup, and a lot is left unsaid.





	Chicken Soup and the In-Between

Tessa gets out of the shower and blow-dries her hair—little known fact about her: she hates the dripping feeling of wet hair—then changes into her pyjamas. She hears faint noises: the clattering of pans, country music. The unmistakable sound of Scott’s off-key singing. She heads towards it.

  
It turns out he’s in the kitchen, somehow still energetic enough to be dancing. Despite her exhaustion, despite the fact that her head hurts and it’s been twenty-four hours and three flights since she really slept, she can’t help but smile. Some things never change.

  
It takes a second for him to realize she’s standing there watching his impromptu performance, but he flashes her that goofy grin when he does. “Hey, I made some soup.”

  
She raises her eyebrows in amusement. This is new.

  
“Yeah, chicken soup. _And_ I think I managed to not screw it up.”

  
The sight of this—of Scott making soup for her, when he can barely fry an egg without burning down the kitchen—stirs something in her. The boy he used to be flashes before her eyes, hair sticking up every which way, eyes bright with excitement, solemnly promising her mother he’d look after her on their first trip to compete overseas. (He had thrown up after drinking a whole gallon of chocolate milk on that trip. _She’d_ ended up looking after _him_.) But he had looked out for her over the years.

  
Looking at Scott from across the kitchen, she feels the irrational urge to burst into tears. Her feelings are all mixed up and intertwined: the joy of their Olympic triumph, sadness that it’s over, doubt as to what comes next. Suddenly, she wants to hug him. She wants to tell him that she doesn’t remember her life without him, and she’s not sure what she’s going to do now. She wants to bury herself in blankets and not think about what comes next. Business school? Fashion? Montreal or London or—

  
“T, you ok?”

  
She realizes suddenly that she’s very close to bursting into tears over chicken soup. Great. Blame it on the fever and jet lag.

  
“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just… twenty years, and now it’s over. I guess it just hit me now.”

  
His voice softens, “I know.”

  
She can tell he’s about to say more but she’s suddenly cold and afraid of where this is going, so she walks over and starts taking out bowls. She watches Scott out of the corner of her eye as he gets them spoons, but he stays quiet as they take a seat.

  
“Ok, judgement time,” he grins at her from across the table. Mock-serious, she takes a sip and pretends to consider it.

  
“Mmm, I have to say…” She pauses dramatically. “It’s disappointing.”

  
His face falls and she holds out for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! It’s great.”

  
“Getting me back for Vancouver, eh? I see how it is.”

  
She smiles at the memory. They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

  
“Thank you,” She says suddenly. “For everything.”

  
_For the past twenty years; for taking care of me; for being my best friend._

  
He nods. He knows she doesn’t mean the soup.

  
His hand finds hers on the table. “Thank _you_.”

  
A pause. They look at each other for a few seconds without speaking. Tessa struggles to find the words to articulate what he means to her, and this shouldn’t be a problem because she’s always been good with words but there’s a lump in her throat and—

  
“Tess, you know I love you. You’re seriously the reason I get out of bed some days.”

  
She squeezes his hand. Here she is, seconds away from crying for the second time in one night. She usually never cries—it must be the exhaustion, or maybe the cold she caught in Korea. Still, she holds his gaze, sees the tears he’s holding back.

  
“Love you too, Scotty.” Her voice shakes, her hands shake.

  
He lets out a wobbly breath. “I don’t want to lose you. Now that we’re done skating...”

  
She shakes her head fervently, “Never. You won’t lose me.”

  
She wants to say more. To say: _I don’t know what we are, exactly, but you’re quite possibly the most important person in my life. My touchstone, my constant. I don’t know what I’d do without you._

  
(If she could find her voice and say all that out loud, would it change something? Sometimes she worries that he doesn’t understand what he means to her. She tries to show it, but she—usually so eloquent, so confident—has never been good at expressing her feelings. Not when it really matters.)

  
Instead, she says, “Now go take a shower.” Smiles at him. Winks as she stands and starts clearing up the dishes, hands still a little shaky.

  
Amused by her sudden change in tone, Scott just watches her for a moment. She shakes her head in mock-disapproval at his lingering so he gets up. “I’m going...”

  
She puts the dirty plates and spoons in the sink and begins cleaning up.

  
He plants a kiss on her forehead on the way out.

  
“Whoa! Tessa, you’re burning up.”

  
She looks at him in confusion as he pulls her closer and rests his forehead against hers. She’s had this cold for a couple of days; the long flights must’ve made it worse. “I’m ok. It’s just a cold.”

  
“Yep, you’ve definitely got a fever.”

  
“I got it from you, you know.” She says defensively.

  
“I know. I’m sorry.” Remorse in his eyes as he looks at her like a chastised puppy.

  
“Hey, I was teasing. This is obviously not your fault.”

  
She smiles as he starts rubbing her arms, trying to keep her warm, and lets him lead her towards the bedroom. They’ve shared a bed so many times it’s like second nature—she climbs into his bed without questioning it. She’s so tired and the blanket is so warm, she doesn’t protest when he tucks it around her like she’s a child and plants a kiss on her cheek.

  
The door closing softly, the muffled sound of the bathroom door opening. A car zooming by in the street outside. Then the sounds start to seem further and further away, sleep coming over her. She hears the far-off sound of running water and thinks, confusedly, of rain.

***

Scott climbs into bed a few minutes later. Tessa, warm and half-asleep, murmurs something that sounds like “so cold” before snuggling into him with a satisfied sigh. It melts his heart a little. She starts mumbling nonsense words—he picks out “Scotty” and “warm” but also “soup”—which would be amusing if she didn’t seem concerned.

  
“Shh… just sleep.” He strokes her hair and she quietens.

  
He doesn’t stop to question the fact that this is not how normal friends behave, because this is Tessa and things between them have never been “normal”. There were boundaries, at first, but those started disappearing after a while, until all that was left is what they are now. Best friends, skating partners, soul mates? At some point, maybe, words would’ve been enough to define it. But they are way past that point.

  
So he tucks her into bed, holds her close. With Tessa in his arms—hair smelling faintly like strawberries and home—it’s not so hard to ignore that tiny voice in the back of his head asking him _what is this, what the hell are you doing_? For her, he can be ok with the ambiguity, this liminal relationship where they’ll never be just one thing or another. Maybe if he questions it, he’ll lose her.

Maybe, he thinks, this in-between state is better than changing things forever.


End file.
